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Firstly, ladies and gentlemen, I must apologise for the lateness of this update. Work and the like has been extremely hectic, and will probably remain so until the end of the week. After that, however, updates will resume as normal.

Secondly, I am once again in a hurry, and have not proofread this update properly, so my apologies also for any errors.

And now, to answer comments:

loki100- Exactly. With the Turks dying very quickly, I'm the only big power left in the area. I hope to be able to control large swathes of the Middle East in due course, and Constantinople too.

Stuyvesant- Maybe not as loveless as you think- Manoel is merely shy and cold, not emotionless. Things are not as bad as they seem...

It could sit badly with others, but other than the Byzantines there aren't any others to speak of.



PART ONE:

The Lairs of Demons.

Chapter Four.

Lightening shattered the sky. Among the Basque mountains, the world was rocked back and forth.

The peaks of the Pyrenees were lit up by the fire of heaven, above the cities and fields below, above the hateful men and women who lurked in Spanish valleys.

Upon the mountain of the Demons, a little wooden shack jutted out, feared by all but known by few. Within it were some of the deadliest people in the world, who had been trained for half their lives to kill, and do it well.

Georgians. A country hated by many and known to few. These assassins were from that mountain realm, and loved their country and king dearly.

One of them had just left the cabin- perhaps not the most intelligent idea in the middle of a storm. But this man had always been lucky. He'd been born in a blasted waste of the north, the fiery little Icelandic Republic.

He was one of the oldest of the assassins- he'd been there from the beginning. He'd trained many, and had killed many.

No assassin left the peak. They were either killed or would die there. He enforced this rule with an iron law, catching anyone who could not take it.

Except there was one who had got past him.

A man from the Far East, some dreamy-eyed Asiatic with idealistic dreams of mankind. Foolery. Man was evil, and simply made strange constructs to create some semblance of morality.

The assassins were isolated from all. They received their orders from written messages, and tried to see as little of the outside world as possible.

But this assassin had learnt something on their last trip. That Asian bastard was still alive- more than that, he was Spymaster in his beloved kingdom.

The assassins had a new job- one not sanctioned by the king, but one that would be carried out regardless.

The Whisperer would be buried under ten foot of snow and stone. He would see to it personally. Nobody got past him and lived.
 
We learn a little more about the Whisperer's past (but how did he end up with the Georgian assassins in the high Basque country?), but more questions are raised than answered: why are the assassins essentially moving against Georgia? What is the Whisperer's ultimate goal? Does Affonso even know the assassins exist? You would think that, if Affonso knows about them, a stern letter from the Georgian king would go a long way towards smoothing this whole mess over... Granted, it would't make for dramatic reading, but still...

Well, we'll find out soon enough what will happen. And eventually, even some of my questions might be answered! ;) in the meantime, good luck with the Real Life distractions. :)
 
loki100- His aims... well, I'm revealing nothing yet. But he certainly has made some nasty enemies in life, yes. The assassins don't like deserters...

Stuyvesant- He knows about them, but definitely not their intentions. And they don't see it as moving against Georgia but as moving to save it.

Also, thanks :). And I promise that there will, eventually, be some answers.

PART ONE:

The Lairs of Demons.

Chapter Five.

She stood there, arms splayed out, smiling slightly as the wind whistled around her.

Manoel watched her from the window of his bedroom. She could be strange sometimes, but then again so could he.

He looked back down to his sister's letter. It did not make easy reading. What had happened to his sweet little Aspae, full of laughter and innocence?

Well, that girl had never truly existed, if he was to be brutally honest. His sister had always been devious and crafty, concocting elaborate plots against the other courtiers. But still, he didn't want her to belong to the world of schemes and hatred which he lived in.

But the plan she had made was a good one. She had created an engine of desire and love, dark malice and cruel death. He didn't like it, but recognised something in it that could work, and work well.

Sancho had to go. That much was clear. Manoel believed, without a hint of pride, that he should be the rightful heir, not his elder brother. Affonso was too blind to the truth to do anything, so his family would have to step in for him.

The letter slipped from his fingers, onto the desk. His eyes closed. He began to long to stand upon that hill, like his betrothed- with no cares or worries, just the sky and the wind and the grass below...

No. He sat back up, forcing himself to keep awake. Conversations and memories swam through his mind as he tried to make sense of his sister's ideas. One particular image came clear to him- a little talk that had occurred between his father and himself, many years before.

He'd been sitting by the fire- just a little boy back then. His father had been sitting in his chair, telling him, Sancho and little baby Aspae wonderful stories and myths. And Manoel had asked, "What is it like to be a king?"

And his father had simply replied, "A king's job, child, is to allow others to be happy, while languishing in misery himself."

Manoel had not understood. A king was supposed to be glorious, wonderful, and full of joy. But nowadays he understood completely. Everything was so very... wrong at the top.

He picked up a quill, dipped it in an inkwell, and began to write a reply. "My dear sister", he wrote, "I agree with you entirely....
 
Manoel might be acting from the purest motives (and Sancho definitely sounds like bad news), but he's still dipping into very murky waters. Even if he succeeds in the end (and succeeds his father - hah), there will be many losses to mourn on the way there. I hope it's worth it in the end.
 
loki100- Thanks, and the Whisperer's problems will be getting a whole lot worse soon enough...

Stuyvesant-He certainly is, but he isn't like Aspae- he has more restraint. He is more of a realist than Affonso, but will still hesitate at doing anything very terrible.

PART ONE:

The Lairs of Demons.

Chapter Six.

28th November, 1141.

The monks proceeded on through the City, chanting their ancient Latin words.

"Veni, Veni Emmanuel."

Affonso could hear them from inside the Great Hall. Would they never cease? Would he ever have the peace to speak?

He sighed, and continued. He had called only his most trusted friends and advisers to discuss the war he was about to undertake.

The Whisperer, Adarnase, Manoel, Aspae, Pereyaslava. These five people were the only ones he would ever talk to about such sensitive matters of state any more. His Chancellor and Steward were both highly competent, but they did not need to know about this.

"So, can we do it?"

The Whisperer nodded. "Yes, sir. The dissenters in the Sultan's provinces will be ready to tear the empire apart. If we declare war, they'll see their opportunity and proceed to rise up and deal with our enemy themselves."

His voice truly had become a whisper, a fragile croak brought on by age and a nasty little wound to his throat, many years before. He never seemed to grow older, though; one could still mistake him for the thirty year old spy who had tricked the Dowager Queen and stormed into the Bagratuni court.

But Affonso knew that the years were taking their toll on him. He couldn't fight as well, run as well. He was only ten years Affonso's senior, but he was already slow and weary.

"Captivum solve Israel."

"Our armies are ready and able to strike whenever you wish, sir. We have a professional fighting force full of patriotic fervour, capable of performing whatever you wish.

Adarnase, the son of Akakide, was a dark haired, long faced man, who looked as though he would be better suited to the Church than the army. His deep, calming voice and perpetually dour expression did not give any hint of the mighty warrior who lay below.

"Excellent. Does anybody else have any objections?"

Aspae leant foward slightly. "Are you really sure about this, father? The last time we went to war, we only just escaped a terrible calamity. If it hadn't been for Akakide's actions at the-"

"You weren't there, child", snapped Affonso. "You have no idea what went on, save from the little books and strategic treatises you have read. And the Sultan is weak now. Nothing will stop us, nothing can get in our way.


"Qui gemit in exilio"

Aspae leant back, a little worried at her father's manner. He only ever snapped at her when he was nervous.

But they were all nervous. She glanced at her brother. Despite his calm demeanour, his face had turned deathly pale.

"So it's agreed, is it?


"Privatus Dei Filio."

"Yes, Affonso." It was his wife's soft voice which had spoken. He glanced into her cold, cold eyes, which only ever thawed for him. A twinge of guilt pricked his heart.

"Then Georgia goes to war."

He got up, and left the room. The lands of the Sultan would be his little goldmine. From Jerusalem to Constantinople would his New Georgia spread.


"Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Israel!"
 
I like Affonso's irritability - and Aspae's explanation that it means he's worried. It tilts the original interpretation of the event.

And with everybody so worried, it's hard not to be worried myself. I fear this war is a big mistake. And if the country of Georgia will suffer, then it seems like a given that the Court of Georgia will suffer as well... This brief show of unity will not survive long...
 
Sorry it's late, everyone.

Stuyvesant- Oh, the war won't go exactly as planned, certainly- but I shall reveal no more than that, as Aspae's plans will soon be set in motion.

loki100- It's a mistake alright- and a big one at that...

PART ONE:

The Lairs of Demons.

Chapter Seven.

2nd January, 1142

"You fight well, young one."

Far from Europe's sweet palaces and halls. Far from the lush forests and desert sands of Arabia. Far from home. Far from health.

Esugei grimaced. The old man was teasing him.

He leapt at the Khan again, trying in vain to wrestle with him. He could not; for all his youth, his grandfather's experience was too much for him.

The boy leapt back, grinning now. He would have his way one day.

The Khan bowed, and walked over to the blazing fire. He stared deep into it for a long, long time.

"Ogadei."

A man leapt up at the sound of the name. "Yes, great Khan?"

The Khan saw much in the fire. He saw the names of those before him, great leaders and honourable warriors. Life was hard out here on the steppes. He needed a warrior.

But also more. He needed somebody who knew how to manipulate men, to make others bow before him.

The Khan knew nothing of the world beyond the frozen steppes. He knew not of the great distances between his world and that of the Christians and the Muslims. He knew not of the war which was driving the little limpet-kingdom of Georgia into the ground.

But he did knew that Bagatur had gone west. And he knew that he needed him now, more than ever.

He whispered something into Ogadei's ear. Esugei watched, unable to make out the words.

Ogadei silently bowed, and mounted his horse. He rode off into the distance.

Esugei never asked the Khan what happened. And Ogadei was never seen again.

But wheels were beginning to turn. One day, the mighty machine of the Mongol Empire would be set in motion. The demons of the West would spring from their lair.

Soon.
 
Happy New Year, everyone.

loki100- Good to be back, and as we shall see, Georgia is definitely not in the best of states.

PART ONE:

The Lairs of Demons.

Chapter Eight.

14th January 1142. Dagestan.

Lightening pounded down upon the mountains. Manoel bit his tongue in worry

They were outnumbered. His forces may have had the high ground, but in a storm where one could not see, that was of little consolation.

The Armenian army was stuck in the Caucasian mountains. Affonso and his troops held the western half of the country, aided by the Marshal and Manoel's brothers, but they were only just surviving. Trebizond was under siege and now Batumi was under attack too.

In the east, Affonso had entrusted the defence to his motley collection of vassals. But Azerbaijan was surrounded, and the elite Persian troops of the Sultan were thrusting upwards, trying to cut of Georgian trade across the Caspian Sea.

And they had gotten so far that now Manoel was trying to ride upon little mountain paths near the Volga, cursing the weather and wishing that the war was over.

A little band of enemies ran across the path ahead of them. Manoel rode forwards, blade swung above his head, ready for the final swoop.

He knew the type of men they were. Looters, brigands, thieves. Every country had them.

He had no idea where the rest of his army was. But there were only four or five of these men. This shouldn't be too difficult.

He swung the blade, nicking one on the chin, before turning around and slicing one in the stomach, felling him. But his horse was finding it hard to manoeuvre on the narrow mountain paths, so he dismounted, swinging his sword in front of him.

Then he was surrounded. Turkish soldiers sprung up from the bushes, the snow, the little trees adorning the peak. Greedy looks on their faces; the bounty for a prince of the realm was high.

In front of him and on either side they advanced. Manoel looked down. It was a steep peak, and he had little chance of surviving a fall.

Ah, well. Better than capture.

He turned, and flung himself off the path, tumbling down the slope and praying for survival.
 
loki100-Thanks, and it is indeed. If Manoel doesn't survive the fall, then Georgia has lost...


PART ONE:

The Lairs of Demons.

Chapter Nine.

Two men walked away, as the blood-red sun set upon their land. Behind them was a city, one of the most magnificent in all the world. Badajoz, capital of the Moorish Empire.

Once was a Christian prince, dressed in black. Hovhannes' son, he was deeply regretful. Terrible things had come to pass.

The other was a Moor, also solemn. He was much older, with a long, grey beard and a haunted look on his face.

"What shall we do?"

The Moor sighed, looking at his companion. "What can we do? Aspae knows too much about us. Her spies could make Iberia crumble if she wished."

The Christian nodded. "You don't want this."

The Moor smiled. "Of course not. But I am the Emir of Badajoz now. I must think of my people. Another century of war would do no good."

"But you don't know what she is asking! The boy is evil! I have met bad men, despicable men, but none are as cruel, sadistic and incompetent as Sancho. He can't be king."

"But unless we do as she says, then we won't have homes. It's simple, my friend. We refuse to put Sancho on the throne, contrary to what your dear cousin Aspae wishes, and she uses her considerable intelligence on the Moorish rulers to drive the peninsular into the ground. We obey."

The Christian looked up, into the blood-tinged clouds. "Much blood will come of this, Emir."

"I know, Prince of Porto. I know too well."



THE END
OF PART ONE.
 
The war fares poorly... And I thought that Aspae and Manoel agreed on removing Sancho from the throne (or rather, making sure he never even gets there)? Either I misunderstood, or Aspae is playing a very devious game indeed... Trouble for Georgia everywhere - they might not even make it long enough to suffer the Mongol onslaught...
 
The war fares poorly... And I thought that Aspae and Manoel agreed on removing Sancho from the throne (or rather, making sure he never even gets there)? Either I misunderstood, or Aspae is playing a very devious game indeed... Trouble for Georgia everywhere - they might not even make it long enough to suffer the Mongol onslaught...

Aspae's plan is to make sure he doesn't get to the throne- the Georgian throne. She is planning to utterly destroy Sancho in a heartless and cold way...

Anyway, more on that later. Update tomorrow.
 
Aspae's plan is to make sure he doesn't get to the throne- the Georgian throne. She is planning to utterly destroy Sancho in a heartless and cold way...

A-ha, I see...

<Taps side of nose in a highly meaningful way>

No, seriously, I'm still not really any wiser, but it sounds like Aspae wants to foist some Iberian throne on Sancho - and then watch the Peninsula tear itself apart. But how? Maybe she'll direct Sancho to conquer 'just' those few areas required for a claim on one of the Iberian King titles, so that he can be a proper double-barreled King? Ah, I better stop trying to figure this out before I make even more of a fool of myself. :)
 
Just to clarify, everyone: this AAR is not dead, but I'm afraid that it is on hold until late May. I have revision for the IB and then the final exams after that. I promise that it'll return in May; I'll have months with nothing to do, so writing seems to be a good way to wile away the time.